by M.P. Powers

I.

In the silence between fires, a train passes. The garden opens its eyes. A woman’s voice floats on waves of air. It’s still morning out here. Still early enough for the trees to climb the sky, for the trains to run backwards, for Spring to exchange its tenor for three gold rings of the crumbling moon.

II.

The moon out here is crumbling, but last night it was an omen, silver-headed cow with God-spun eyes. Last night the moon that’s crumbling in a pillar of crimson cloud remembers. How could it forget? Even the wind remembers when the forest decomposed and the Cadillac that was my mind wrapped itself around a tree.

III.

What was I thinking? I must’ve been mad! Who mistakes an image for a thing and a graven thing for an omen makes for a standing thundercloud. An omen isn’t a thing, I tell you. A thing is right here between silent fires. Where the moon is parable and the trees all stand up naked, the flowers grow radiant with secrets.

M.P. Powers is the author of The Initiate (Anxiety Press, Fall, 2023). Recent publications include the Columbia Review, Black Stone/White Stone, Mayday Magazine, and others. His artwork can be found on Instagram @mppowers1132.